I'll Drink to That
by Javanyet
Summary: I always thought Edward Jellico deserved a little more slack. You could call this chapter 1.5 of my story "Chains of Command".


Edward Jellico couldn't miss the sharp gasp coming from the adjacent office when the Admiral's subspace communication announced that Captain Picard was on a Federation medical transport bound for rendezvous with the Enterprise.

Since the mission began the compliance of virtually every crew member came with some sort of emotion-driven "garnish", never just a clean act of response. Well he supposed he'd expected that, and it _had_ dropped off sharply after the first day (or at least became more subtle). As they carried out his orders most of the crew questioned or challenged him if not with words then with demeanors and facial expressions. Never overt enough to invite reprimand – Will Riker being the obvious exception – but the inner resistance was always discernible. Data alone behaved with absolute neutrality, but then he was an android.

Picard's A.E.O. (Jellico had never quite managed to think of her as "his" A.E.O.) had manifested her discomfort a little more indistinctly. Lieutenant O'Reilly's compliance was "garnished" by something he couldn't quite put his finger on. There were times he could discern a look in her eye, not of agreement but perhaps acknowledgment, as they played the endless round of dead-serious games with the Cardassians while keeping the "open secret" unspoken. He wasn't unaware of her delicate position running interference between himself and the crew in some matters of protocol and morale; Jellico had decided early on that Counselor Troi shared too much of the crew's doubts to effectively try to counteract them. O'Reilly was just enough of an outsider, in spite of her marriage to Commander Data and her friendships on board, that Jellico considered her a more expedient choice as a bridge level go-between with the crew. She'd reinforced his orders with communication followup, scheduled spontaneous ad hoc meetings on the run, and processed and delivered the unpopular crew assignments, all communications having the weight of his command behind them. Her discretion was, so far as he could tell, absolute, and what little core intelligence he did confer went no farther than the ready room log recorder. How she might reconcile her personal relationships with her duties had concerned Jellico only insofar as it might affect her performance. Though he'd had serious doubts when Jean-Luc had proposed this arrangement, Picard's personal assurances had persuaded him to agree to it. He would have reassigned the lieutenant the moment he doubted her, but thankfully that hadn't been necessary. She'd been outwardly professional, efficient, and absolutely closed-mouthed regarding her own opinion of the proceedings. All of it probably a function of her Starfleet training and professional grooming under Picard's command, but he suspected her brief off duty periods may also have demanded some on-duty type restraint. Of course all of this was sheer conjecture, as the lieutenant obviously played her cards as close to the vest as Jellico did himself. Occasionally in jest, and sometimes not, Jellico's colleagues tended to accuse him of being a throwback to an earlier, darker age of diplomacy where ethics took second place to advantage and openness was considered a dangerous flaw. That the lieutenant was a _genuine_ throwback combined with the memory of that occasionally steady gaze of acceptance to convince Jellico that maybe his colleagues were right about him. Takes one to know one, in any century.

What dwelt behind Leora O'Reilly's veneer of compliance and efficiency revealed itself in that gasp she couldn't keep to herself. Its nature, if not its substance. It expressed the relief that her own captain had survived and would return, but it expressed something else more clearly: _"It's over."_ In that moment Edward Jellico knew he'd drink to that wordless exclamation, more than any empty words of praise or congratulations Starfleet cared to bestow. He'd drink to it, in voluminous, non-synthehol fashion, as soon as he could stand down. The lieutenant's eloquent explosion of breath suddenly made Jellico wish he was capable of feeling the rush of power that some higher ranking Starfleet officers felt when inflicting unpleasant and confusing duty on the tangibly unwilling. That at least would have made things darkly enjoyable, if not easier. Then again the day these kinds of things become enjoyable we are all doomed, he thought. Drink to that, too.

Before he could summon her Lieutenant O'Reilly stood before him, PADD in hand. The crisis over, he could notice now how beaten down she looked. Sleep deprived, wrung out by strain and personal emotions and pure raw worry for Picard. Pretty much the same way he knew he must look, though he was glad it was nobody else who could see it in its first rush. Maybe this is what Jean-Luc meant when he'd once described a good A.E.O. as a "Starfleet-issued familiar". It sounded strangely mystical coming from him, a decidedly pragmatic sort, but now… he mentally added that description to the list of things he'd drink to the moment he was off-duty.

"Yes, Lieutenant. You have the command transfer protocols?"

He discerned more relief than eagerness in her anticipation of the order.

"Yes, sir." She handed the PADD to him as he rose.

"Lieutenant, I want to thank you for your able assistance. I'm sure the captain told you I questioned the wisdom of having an A.E.O. on duty."

A weary smile only made it as far as her eyes. "So did he, once upon a time."

"I imagine he did. But the advantages of your function have made themselves clear to me, as they did to him. I might just put in for an A.E.O. myself when I return to my regular command." His ship wasn't quite Galaxy class, so one hadn't been forced upon him. But every new experience was an opportunity to learn and improve. Though nobody on this ship would imagine him capable of that thought, he would drink to that too.

"Always glad to recruit more believers, sir," O'Reilly was saying. "And I should thank you, too."

He couldn't imagine why. "For what, Lieutenant? I did my duty, and the crew did theirs."

"True, but what I mean is, thank you for _not_ being what everyone suspected you were."

Well, well… this was as close to Permission To Speak Freely territory as she'd ventured since he'd arrived. He strongly suspected it was a function of exhaustion.

"And that would be, Lieutenant?" He could enjoy this sort of beneath-the-radar exchange, in small doses anyway, but whenever did he get the chance?

The Lieutenant shifted, coughed, stood a little straighter. "It would be inappropriate for me to say, sir."

"Ah." He sat down again. "I'll be sure to refer Jean-Luc to this segment of the log recording, if only for posterity's sake." He glanced at the PADD and then at the lieutenant. "Dismissed."

"Yes sir."

He managed to keep from smiling until she'd left the room. God, he was tired, and _so_ ready for some home time with his family. Everything would be in good order here for Picard's return, of that he was certain.

Now if he could only remember where he'd sent that stupid fish.


End file.
